The meaning of such strife, And how dare man thus rashly Trifle with human life? Can all the so-called glory, That man to man can pay, Outweigh the dire inheritance Of this unhallowed fray? Are hearts thus drunk with life blood, And hands thus steeped in gore, Not calculated to become More brutal than before? And do not youth and manhood Deserve a better fate, Than to be rashly sacrificed To jealous greed and hate? Thousands of glittering lances Cut through the startled air, As valiant chiefs and mighty men The blood-red carnage share. Flashes, like sunlight splendour, Gleam forth from brazen shields, And burnished arms dart back the light, O'er the blood-gorged fields. List! said the angel, sighing, From many a ghastly mound Deep groans of torture mingle With the battle din around. What piteous cries of anguish Are those, who dying moan, That they may never more behold Their dearly loved at home! Some of earth's best and brightest, 'Mid prospects glad and gay, Others to loved ones plighted Slaughtered and bleeding lay! Some, sons of widowed mothers Who had none else to cheer, Some, guardians of fond sisters, Many to wives most dear! Ah! who can tell the sorrow Intailed by war's foul breath, Or gauge the dire inheritance Of all this murderous death! The sinew of their country, The hope of years to come, Cut down in prime of manhood,